*
The Dubious Profit made an uneventful run in to the Inines main station. Three times their course had been interrupted as Navy ships hurried by, sharp and edgy; and twice they were buzzed by the Ininish Thought Police, battering at the comms with propaganda. But Hesperus kept the Profit steady on the regulation course from the witchpoint, and finally the station’s docking port yawned in front of them, swallowing them up.
Hesperus heard the clamps thudding home against the outer hull, and flicked the ship’s internal communicator. “Docked and locked, everyone. This is a quick turnaround, so no shore leave. I want us fuelled and ready to go within the hour. Rus, you might want to take a look round the maintenance yard; see if there’s anything worth picking up. You know, that’s not, ah, bolted down. Hesperus out.” He cut the comms as Rus began to growl profanities, and made his way to the airlock.
His contact – his business partner – was waiting on the observation deck; Hedred Tulka, a tall, thin human, sitting with some discomfort in a suspensor chair.
“Captain Hesperus, a pleasure. Forgive me if I do not rise; I find the local gee a little trying. Would you like something to drink?”
Hesperus did, but if Tulka bought him a drink, he would have to buy one for Tulka in return, and the bar on the observation deck was far from cheap. “No, thank you, Mr Tulka: clear heads make for clear dealing, I find! But I have no objection if you wish to have something yourself.”
“I won’t, thank you; I find there’s little point. This barbaric gravity drags everything into my feet, and gives me no benefit at all. But I’m pleased to find you so admirably abstemious. So many commanders these days tend towards excess.”
“Indeed yes,” said Hesperus through gritted teeth, sitting down.
“So: the contract. Your holds are clear? Can you load? The goods are ready, if you are. Eighty tons of machine parts, for transport; the port of call is Qudira.”
“Qudira? I thought the destination was Teen.”
Tulka drew up the corners of his mouth with some effort. “Te’en, yes …” He pronounced it like a native. “Well, markets fluctuate, as you know. I would like you to take the shipment to Qudira – to explore the possibilities there. It’s a poor planet; unsophisticated, one might say. The potential for profit should not be ignored.”
“Unsophisticated, indeed. One might also say dangerous,” replied Hesperus. Qudira was a known pirate nest, classed as an Anarchy on the register. Although it lay only one jump from Inines, it was seldom visited. They would undoubtedly pay a premium for high-grade machinery, but getting it there would mean a run through one of the most hazardous systems in the sector. There was a reason why few ships made the voyage to Qudira.
“Fortune favours the bold, Captain,” said Tulka smoothly. “But perhaps … an extra three per cent on top?”
Hesperus hesitated. The Dubious Profit, despite her numerous failings, was a robust ship, and her armaments were more than merely functional. But if the engines should fail … he imagined the Profit adrift somewhere in the Qudira system, prey to any brigand, freebooter or pirate. He imagined fighting with the rest of the crew for access to the Profit’s solitary escape capsule. He imagined Rus would probably win that fight. But he could taste money. Maybe Rus would find something to patch up the drive. The odds were good; a high-tech place like Inines, all sorts of serviceable parts were dumped, being cheaper to replace than to repair. The transportation fee on offer was already temptingly high, and Tulka sounded very keen to get his machinery to Qudira.
“Another ten per cent,” he said. “Danger money. I have my crew to think about.” Rus would definitely win that fight.
“Five,” said Tulka.
“Eight.”
“Six.”
“Seven, no less.” Hesperus crossed his arms and sat back, looking Tulka in the eye.
Tulka pursed his lips, and tutted. “Very well, seven. You are a shrewd bargainer, Captain Hesperus!”
A flicker of suspicion crossed Hesperus’s mind. “This machinery … Qudira is a tech-one world, is it not?”
Tulka laughed. “Have no fear, Captain! I have no wish to contravene the Co-op’s technology transfer statutes! No, everything is open-source and freely transportable. Ploughs, harrows, seed drills and threshers. Nothing which could cause the slightest economic or cultural upset. Here,” he handed Hesperus an ident pad. “The bill of lading. All containers inspected, sealed and authorised by the meticulous bureaucracy of Inines Main Station. In triplicate.”
The Galactic Co-operative had strict laws protecting low-end planets from the potentially devastating impact of high-end technologies. Not that Hesperus cared. There was a lot of money to be made, bringing the glittering machineries of sophisticated worlds to the more benighted areas of the galaxy; and if social devastation was the result, well, that wasn’t his problem. But it was a tricky business, circumventing Co-op statutes: in an advanced and tightly organised system like Inines it was practically impossible. Hesperus thumbed the pad, scrutinising the columns of registration codes and serial numbers that flowed across it. All was in perfect order. The Dubious Profit’s holds would, unquestionably, be filled with ploughs, harrows, seed drills and threshers.
“Of course, of course,” said Hesperus. “Forgive me. One meets so many rogues; it is a rare pleasure to do business with an honest man.”
Tulka flapped his hand weakly, then let it fall back onto the arm of his suspensor chair. “Think nothing of it, Captain. You are scrupulous, as is only right and proper. So, if you will mark the bill … there, there and there … and again there … we are done. I can leave you and your crew to supervise the loading. My agent will meet you on your arrival at Qudira station, and will arrange for payment. Now, if you will excuse me, I will move deeper into the station, where a more civilised level of gravity pertains. A good voyage to you, and a swift one!”
Hesperus stood as Tulka’s chair glided off towards the exit. He weighed the ident pad in his hands, then slipped it into a jacket pocket and hurried to the docking bay to make arrangements for taking on the cargo.